


Ghosts

by Reaping



Series: Writoween 2015 [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Blowjobs, F/F, Flashback, M/M, Post-breakup, Unhappy Ending, Writoween 2015, mild drinking, seriously this is not happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-30
Updated: 2015-11-30
Packaged: 2018-05-04 02:57:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5317871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reaping/pseuds/Reaping
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He caught the scent when they were cleaning out the spare room. It had been so long since he’d had that particular smell in his nose that he froze, eyes closing and nostrils flaring. The ache in his chest flared, he’d thought that time had healed it, but he was wrong – so very wrong. </p><p>Writoween 2015 Prompt 2: <s>Vampires</s>/<b>Ghosts</b></p>
            </blockquote>





	Ghosts

**Author's Note:**

> Please believe me when I tell you this is not a happy ending.

                He caught the scent when they were cleaning out the spare room. It had been so long since he’d had that particular smell in his nose that he froze, eyes closing and nostrils flaring. The ache in his chest flared, he’d thought that time had healed it, but he was wrong – so very wrong. He felt the burn behind his eyes, chin dropping to his chest, felt his legs give out beneath him. He didn’t feel the way his knees slammed into the floor – didn’t hear it, his mind drifting backwards to the last time he’d heard the voice that matched the scent. The anger and pain, the accusations, the way it felt when he’d watched the owner of that particular brand of pain walk away. At the time, he thought he’d done what was right – and he thought it was temporary. He should’ve known better, pain like that digs deep. The sounds of the world come back to him slowly – his vision fading back in to see Scott kneeling before him, hand on his shoulder, shaking him and softly calling his name. He can see echoes of his own pain reflected in the deep brown eyes staring at him. He didn’t mean to break everyone all those years ago (four years, ten months, six days, and five hours if he was counting, but he’s not).

“Are you back with us Derek?” Scott’s voice is soft, concern edging through it. He nods at his alpha, swallows against a dry throat, feeling the tightness. He brings his hand to his face, running his fingers down it and feels moisture – he hadn’t even realized he’d begun to cry. He feels his cheeks heat, he didn’t mean to lose himself so completely over something so small. He must’ve been thinking out loud because Scott pulls him into a gentle hug, hands rubbing small circles into Derek’s back, soothing words whispering against his ear. He grips back tightly before releasing the man and standing. He follows his nose towards the source of the scent. Shoved behind boxes that hadn’t been moved since the place had been built he finds it – a red hoodie, forgotten for all of this time. He feels claws prick the palm of the hand not holding onto the jacket, the bite sharp enough to keep him grounded in the now. He turns to Scott and watches his friend’s face crumble, tears springing now to the other man’s eyes.

 

*********

 

**Five Years Ago**

                The house was finally done, enough rooms for any of the pack who might show up. Maybe not as large as it had once been, and the basement no longer existed (too many bad memories to leave that place open – they’d filled it with concrete when they reset the foundation). It was finally ready, a home for all of them, a new family built on the strength of the old one. Stiles stood next to him, hand squeezing his shoulder, in the years since they’d met Derek had watched him go from loud and spastic to thoughtful and calm. His mouth tilted, a small smile playing across his lips as he stared at the boy, now a man, who had helped save him from himself. Stiles tilted his head, a smile on his lips but a curious expression in his eyes. Derek shook his head slightly and moved towards the front door – ready to let the pack in and truly make it theirs.

                They gathered in the back yard, plates on their laps, a fire in the new pit set far enough back from the house that Derek didn’t have to worry about it, laughing and joking. They’d be scattering soon – college for all of them. Isaac had come back in the last half of their senior year, Jackson too. The things that had almost torn them apart ended up dragging them all home and together. It had brought him back too. He watched them all, quiet but not alone for what felt like the first time since before the fire. He finally felt right, felt his guard dropping in the face of everything. Graduation was around the corner and they were happy. Like everything else good in Beacon Hills, it was bound to go wrong.

The weeks passed quickly – he watched them all walk across the stage, watched them clutch at each other and celebrate their survival. There was a party at the house, more people than he realized that any of them knew, probably the entire senior class. He tried to stay back, mild supervision so nobody got hurt, but the pack dragged him into the revelry. They told him it was a celebration for him too – he’d never had a graduation party, by then he’d lost almost everything, but now they all had each other and they’d made it. The town had been quiet; the Nemeton’s draw finally ebbing. They talked about nothing; just let the happiness flow around them. The summer burned hot, all of them cramming in as much time together as they could. Lydia was the first to go, a summer internship at MIT pulling her away early. Jackson followed quickly after, he’d been accepted into Bentley and while it was close to MIT, it wasn’t really close enough for their newly rekindled relationship. He said he needed to make sure he got everything set up right, but they all knew what he really meant was that he wanted to spend what time he could with her. Uncharacteristically, nobody gave him shit for it. They’d all been through too much to not understand what he needed. Isaac followed shortly after – he’d be at NYU, his time in France giving him what he’d needed to focus himself. He was surprised when he got his acceptance letter, but the rest of the pack assured him that they all knew it would happen. Scott wasn’t going anywhere, but his days quickly filled – he was still working for Deaton, would be starting at veterinary school in the fall and he wanted to learn as much as he could from the man before he started, hoping to have a buffer in case the supernatural decided to rear its ugly head at them again. Stiles wasn’t leaving until August – another month away, an eternity almost. He’d be going to Berkley, he had a full ride, and he’d be home most weekends when he could.

By the end of July, it was mostly the two of them. They went running, they swam, they spent lazy days on the new sofa set that had been purchased when the living room was completed – nobody in the pack would let him keep any of the furniture from the loft. The first time they kissed, he was surprised, but he shouldn’t have been. He knew how he felt, how he’d felt since Stiles held him up in a pool all those years ago. If he had paid any attention, he’d have known how Stiles felt too – it was written all over his face every time he looked at Derek, but he’d worked too hard at not paying attention. There was no hesitance from Stiles – they were laughing at something stupid, some comedy on Netflix, and then Stiles was in his space, left arm trapped between them, right hand on Derek’s cheek, holding him still while his lips pressed against Derek’s. He knew his eyes were wide, could see Stiles’ lashes fanning across his own cheeks before his eyes opened and he started to pull away, see the faint blush being to spread, hear the running staccato of his heartbeat. He grabbed the back of Stiles’ neck and pulled him back, smiling as their lips met again. They stayed that way for a long while, trading sweet kisses, neither one rushing it or pushing for more, both of them happy to enjoy this new turn to their relationship. Eventually Stiles ended up in his lap, chest turned sideways towards Derek, legs bent across the couch cushions. He began to shift uncomfortably after another long stretch of minutes.

“Something wrong Der?” There was an edge of worry creeping into his voice.

“Nope, just your bony ass digging into my thighs,” he couldn’t help the chuff of laughter at Stiles’ undignified squawk of outrage as he flung himself up off the couch. Derek reached out and wrapped his hands around Stiles’ waist, dragging him back onto his lap, his back pressed snugly against Derek’s chest. He buried his nose in the join of shoulder and neck in front of him, dropping a soft kiss to the nape of his neck, felt Stiles relax against him. He shifted them both, tugging Stiles down so he’s lying in front of Derek facing the TV. The couch isn’t really big enough for it to be comfortable, but he just slings his leg over Stiles’ and burrows his face against the back of his neck. He feels Stiles sigh and relax, his scent going content. They fall asleep curled together that night and for the rest of the nights before Stiles has to leave. After a week officially together he’s pretty sure more of Stiles’ things are at this house than at his own, and it settles something in him. The closer it gets to his time to leave, the more frantic their kisses and touches become. He’d been holding back, not wanting to rush, not wanting to push Stiles into something he’s not ready for. Not wanting to push himself into something before they’re both sure.

The night before Stiles has to leave he’s still trying to hold back, but Stiles kisses away his reservations, tearing down the wall he built of excuses with soft touches and quiet gasps. The moon is nearly full, mellow light filtering in through the large bank of windows. He can see clearly, but knows that it isn’t just his enhanced senses – Stiles can see him nearly as well. They lost their shirts before they’d made it into the room, abandoned their pants somewhere near the foot of the bed. They’d been laying here with sweat beading along their bodies, fingers running over skin, lips meeting, tongues sliding across each other. “Der, please,” the sounds were muted, the slick slide of their bodies causing them both to moan. He felt the slim but strong frame beneath him, skimmed his fingers along the sharp hipbones, sliding them under the band of the boxer briefs and slipping them slowly down, Stiles’ hips lifting to help. He stood back off the bed, eyes dragging down the body of the man he loved, pupils dilating before shucking his own boxers and crawling back up the bed, draping himself across Stiles and lowering down gently until there was no air left between them. He barely caught the breathy yes before Stiles angled his head up and captured his mouth again. He felt the long fingers he admired sliding into his hair, gripping tight and holding him in place. His own hands slid beneath Stiles, wrapping around him, holding Stiles tight to him. He felt the body beneath him arch, drawing a moan from both of them as they rubbed together. Stiles pulled his face back, free hand tapping something against Derek’s bicep. When he glanced over he saw the small bottle of lube that he wasn’t aware they had, quirked an eyebrow at Stiles and got a mischievous smile in return. He leaned down, kissing this man that he loved again before freeing one of his hands and taking the small bottle and sitting up.

“Are you sure?”

“Never more than now Der, I love you,” no stutter in the heartbeat.

“I love you too,” bending double, another kiss before sliding further back. At Stiles’ nod he uncapped the bottle, dripping the cool liquid across his fingers. He watched as Stiles’ legs parted further, left leg bending up closer to his body. He closed his eyes, took a breath to steady himself. He slid his fingers slowly around the tight ring of muscle, free hand stroking the inside of Stiles’ thigh. Gentle touches, barely there, teasing and soft until he felt Stiles relax. His slid one finger against the opening, pressure steady as he slipped in. “Fuck Stiles, fuck,” words a bare mumble. His body felt tight, on the edge of something. He dragged the finger in and out slowly, catching at the rim and tugging gently with each sweep outwards. “More,” the voice a hoarse whisper from above him. He pulled his hand back, added more lube, watched as Stiles clenched around air, his dick hard and leaking against his belly. He leaned forward as he slipped the first finger back in, a second joining it, his tongue lapping at the precome at the head of Stiles’ dick. They groaned in tandem, fingers sliding steadily in and out as his mouth engulfed Stiles, tongue running along the vein on the underside and flicking out to tease at his slit. He added a third finger as he felt the cock hit the back of his throat, felt Stiles tense his muscles not to arch up, heard him moaning, words falling from his mouth, things that sounded like “more” and “please” and “ready”, but mostly sounded like his name. He flexed his fingers where they were dragging inside Stiles, felt him shift in pleasure, before he slipped them out gently and pulled off.

“Condom,” his own voice was hoarse now and he saw the lust flare in Stiles’ eyes when he spoke.

“We don’t….you can’t right? And I’m clean, I never…” there’s a slight tang in his scent – embarrassment Derek thinks, but there’s no reason for it. He feels his eyes blow out completely, knowing he’ll be the first, the only.

“Stiles, you still should be safe,” it takes so much for him to say it, he wants to feel it all, knows the latex will dull it, but Stiles should still be safe, even if he knows Derek can’t catch or transmit anything. He waits, watches as Stiles’ face flits through a thousand micro expressions before smoothing out.

“Want you, just you. Want to feel you Der,” and he can’t say no even though he should. Doesn’t want to say no, so he doesn’t. He slicks himself up, shifting closer to Stiles until his legs are resting on the top of Derek’s thighs. He lines himself up and begins a slow push; despite the prep he can feel Stiles’ body resisting. He eases in slowly, feeling the muscle stretch around until the head of his dick finally breaches it and pops in. He stops moving, can see the accelerated rise and fall of Stiles’ chest. It’s one of the hardest things he’s done but he waits, fingers skimming along Stiles’ legs, waiting to feel him relax. His eyes catch the amber ones staring at him and he stares, enraptured by the man in front of him, he can’t believe he gets this. He’s so lost in the staring he almost misses the small nod, feels a slight reduction in the pressure on his cock and takes a breath before pushing forward again. He watches his length disappear slowly until his hips are snug to Stiles’ ass. He waits again, lowering himself to his elbows and caging Stiles in, tongue licking along the seam of his lips until they’re kissing again. It’s heated but slow, languid. He loses himself in the sensations, Stiles’ skin against his, his heels digging into his ass, fingers threading through his hair. He begins moving his body in a gentle roll, barely pulling out before sliding back in, can feel it when Stiles gets the rhythm, his body moving in perfect counterpoint to Derek’s. The kissing turns frantic, the slide of their bodies harder, he turns his face into Stiles’ neck, can feel the panting against his ear, the pleas to go faster and harder. He wraps his arms beneath Stiles lifts, pulls up until he’s sitting on his knees, Stiles spread across his lap. He grips Stiles’ hips and starts lifting him up, dropping him back down, sees the way his back arches, licks across the expanse of throat in front of him, sucking bruises there that won’t fade for days. He can feel the tightening in the body around him as Stiles gets close, takes a hand away from the hip, holding up with the other and pushing his own hips up, slamming into him as he wraps his now freed hand around Stiles’ cock, thumb dragging across the head with each uptwist of his wrist. Feels Stiles clench around him as he loses it, come splashing across both their chests, feels his own body tighten in response before he’s stilling, pulling Stiles down hard one last time and emptying himself inside. He wraps his arms back around Stiles, holding them tightly together, feels Stiles wrap his arms around his back in response, and he tips them sideways. He hisses as it pulls him out of Stiles, the feel too much on his over sensitized dick. He kisses Stiles again then, gentle, thumb sweeping across his cheek before he rolls out of bed and gets a washcloth to clean them up. When they’re as clean as they’ll get without a shower he lifts the covers, crawls beneath them and pulls Stiles to his chest, wrapping around him before they fall asleep.

Stiles can’t make it home for the first three weeks he’s away. Between orientation and getting everything organized, he just can’t make the drive. They barely even have time to skype or text, Derek thinks about going to see him but doesn’t. It isn’t that he doesn’t miss Stiles, but this is important and he wants him to get settled. He gets a call at 1am the weekend before Stiles is coming home for the first time. When Stiles pops up on the screen he looks exhausted, his hair is disheveled and there are bags under his eyes. His words slur a bit, he’s drunk. He starts talking about how he can’t do it, how he can’t be away, how much he misses Derek, how he made a mistake and he’s going to transfer back home. Derek is stunned, this isn’t what he wants for Stiles, he wants him to follow his dreams, and he tells him as much. Stiles passes out with tears in his eyes, his laptop sliding off his lap. Derek signs out and closes his, goes to his bed and spends the night thinking. In the morning he’s made a decision. It’s for the best. Stiles doesn’t mention the drunken confessions the rest of the week, but Derek can see the sadness in his eyes.

He hears the jeep before he sees it. He’s waiting on the porch when Stiles parks, a smile on his face for the first time since the previous weekend. When Derek doesn’t move to greet him, he falters, walking slowly to the steps, his heart beginning to pound in his chest. Derek hates the sound. He can smell the sour note of worry coming off Stiles as he still doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, doesn’t even smile. He crosses his arms across his chest and speaks finally.

“Stiles, this isn’t working.”

“Huh?” He can hear the confusion but he knows Stiles knows what’s coming, can smell it in the sudden acrid tang of fear he’s putting off.

“You and me – it isn’t what I thought it would be,” it’s so much more, it’s everything, but he can’t say that. He hears it when Stiles heart stops then restarts impossibly faster. He wants to hold him, to tell him the truth.

“But – Derek, I told you, I’m coming home. I might have to finish the quarter so I don’t mess anything up, but that’s only another couple months. We can do it for that long can’t we?” He hates the wobble in Stiles’ voice.

“Stiles – don’t quit. This just isn’t going to work. I don’t want you to come back.” Lie lie lie. He’s so good at it, but he can see the fire in Stiles’ eyes. Can see that he’s not going to back down. He’s going to have to give him more. He steels himself, shuts his face down completely, draws on the part of himself he used when Laura died. He can feel a cruel smirk twist his lips, “Stiles, it was fun while it lasted, really, you’re a pretty good lay even if it was your first time.” He watches Stiles flinch back, his eyes going wide as they start to fill up. “Really though, what did you think was going to happen? You were here, I was bored. Now you’re not here, and I found other ways to fill my time. You were a distraction Stiles, nothing more.”

“Don’t – don’t you fucking dare act like what we have is nothing Derek. I love you, you love me, you fucking told me that. Why are you doing this?” He aches, watching Stiles try to fight. He can’t let him ruin his life for this though. He’ll be angry, but he’ll get over it. He’ll be back and one day they can talk about it and Derek can fix it. But right now, right now he has to do this. Stiles will understand one day. He lets himself laugh darkly, steps towards Stiles, pushing into his space.

“You were a fuck Stiles, nothing else, I don’t love you, never did. I said what I needed to say to get what I want – it’s what I do.” He hears the uptick in his heart, but Stiles isn’t a werewolf so he doesn’t. He stumbles backwards. Derek can hear the clicking in his throat as Stiles swallows dryly – can see the tremors starting in his hands, the tears beginning to flow down his cheeks. He watches Stiles spin on his heel and get in the jeep. Watches him slam the door and leave. He hears it stop when it’s out of sight. If he concentrates he can hear the sobs coming from inside it, hear the moment Stiles breaks completely. He barely makes it to the side of the house before he’s heaving, stomach roiling from what he did. He stands in the shade of the house for a long time, hands on his knees. Long after the jeep finally drives away completely, after the sun goes down. He’s still standing there when Scott comes out of the woods, eyes glowing red, fury etched in his features. The fist that smashes into the side of his face barely registers; instinct has him catching himself in the dirt. He stays down, pulls his knees to his chest and rests his head on them, tears finally slipping free.

“Why? Derek why did you do that?” Scott’s anger always burned out fast, he’s crouching now in front of Derek, his hands squeezing Derek’s, offering him comfort even though he has to be on Stiles’ side.

“He was going to quit Scott, give up his whole life for me, he would’ve regretted it. This is better. He’ll be mad but I’ll explain later. He’ll see I was right.” He finally looks up, stares into the still-red eyes of his alpha. He sees the sadness seep into Scott’s eyes as the bleed back to brown, sees him begin to shake his head.

“No Derek, he won’t.” He feels Scott squeeze his hands before he levers himself up and turns back towards the trees, disappearing into the night.

Stiles doesn’t come home for Thanksgiving. He finds out when he sees the Sheriff packing up his old truck the day before. Scott must have told John what really happened because he can see the pity in the man’s expression before he claps Derek on the shoulder and leaves.

Stiles also doesn’t come home for Christmas and winter break. Nothing for spring break either. He knew he’d be hurt and angry, but he thought that at least Stiles would come back for everyone else. The semester ends and Stiles still isn’t back. He bites the bullet and goes to see Scott. He sees the sadness in his eyes.

“He’s not coming back Derek. He said he can’t be here anymore, can’t do this anymore. He told me to tell the rest of the pack – he won’t talk to any of them.” Derek felt another part of his heart break but he knew it wouldn’t last forever. Stiles would miss them all too much, he’d come home one day. He just had to be patient.

Stiles graduated, Derek saw the Sheriff the day he drove down for that too. A week later he saw a moving van in front of their house, his heart lifted until he saw that they were taking boxes out, not moving them in. John caught his eye from the doorway and he looked as heartbroken as Derek felt. He stayed on the street, watching as the movers hooked the jeep up to the back of the moving truck and drove out of sight. The sun was still up but he went home and went to bed.

 

*********

**Present Day**

                Derek felt his hand clench around the sweatshirt. The pack was here to help him move on; this wasn’t going to help with that at all. But maybe there was no moving on. Stiles had been gone for four years, he knew that he wasn’t coming back, but he couldn’t let go. He hadn’t been with anyone else, no matter how many times they’d all tried to set him up. He knew who he loved, who he wanted. He stared at the bright red hoodie, remembered the last time he’d seen it. There’d been a summer rainstorm and he and Stiles had gotten soaked. They’d stripped on their way up the stairs, bits of clothing everywhere. He remembers unzipping the hoodie before peeling Stiles out of it, remembers flinging it without thought. He hears the echo of Stiles’ laugh, his voice teasing when he’d asked Derek how he was going to keep warm without it. It was the first night they’d stripped each other bare. He swallows thickly and leaves the room, jacket still clutched in his hand. Everywhere he looks he can remember, small alcove at the top of the stairs – the first place he’d fallen to his knees in front of Stiles, the sounds he’d made. The dining table that the pack had refused to use after the first time Stiles had been on his knees. And the couch. God the couch. All the nights curled together, with or without the pack, feeling like their lives were spread out in front of them. He can feel the tears streaming down his face again; can see the pain reflected in the eyes of the pack who’ve all stopped what they’re doing. He pulls the jacket to his chest and steps onto the porch. He can’t do this anymore. He pulls out his phone, he knows the number still, after all these years. Knows it’s the same from the rare occasion that Stiles remembers that Scott was once his brother, not just someone he survived childhood with. He thinks about calling but he’s terrified that Stiles won’t answer so he sends a text.

**Derek: I’m sorry. I love you. Come home.**

                He waits, heart thundering. Several long minutes go by before he gets a response. He leaves his phone on the porch, message open, and returns to the ghosts inside.

**Stiles: Who is this?**

**Author's Note:**

> If you feel I missed any tags, please feel free to let me know and I will add them. Pretty certain this can hang in the Mature rating but if anyone feels like it should be Explicit instead let me know and I'll change it. This is a giant angsty angst fest because I'm feeling melancholy and listening to most of the sad music I own. I needed to get out some of the feeling and this is what happened.


End file.
